Amy Bensen 01 Escaping Reality (8 page)

“You can,” he says firmly, and his hand goes to my head, tilting my

face to his. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

Now I’m embarrassed that I am embarrassed. “I can’t help it.” My

voice shakes. I’m not sure it’s just my voice. I have never felt this exposed.

Not since…not ever. Not like this. “I was—”

“Beautiful.” His hand moves to cup my cheek. “Absolutely beautiful

and sexy.”

My hand covers his. “No.” I laugh and it’s a choked, horrible sound. “I

was fast. Really embarrassingly fast.”

“I like that I can turn you on that easily.” He caresses my shirt and bra

from my shoulders, and I let them fall away and my mind is mush all over

again. And when he leans in and tenderly kisses my shoulder, his hot stare

raking over my naked torso, my breasts are instantly heavy, and my nipples

tight. “And I like,” he adds, his eyes lifting to mine, “that you like it when I

look at you.” His finger lightly teases my nipple and a shiver of pure

pleasure slides down my back. His lips curve. “And that you react when I

touch you.”

A pinching sensation begins to form in my chest. I’m overwhelmed

emotionally when I should simply be aroused and nothing more. I barely

know this man and somehow he digs deep into my soul and speaks to me

like no one else ever has. It’s today’s events. It’s not him.

I cut my gaze, trying to pull myself together, but he does not allow

me an escape, not one he has not created, or offered in perfect orgasmic

pleasure. His finger slides under my chin, tilts it up, forcing my eyes back to

his. “Don’t hide what you feel. See, baby, that’s the thing about fucking

properly, it’s raw and honest. There’s no time limit, or embarrassment, or

nerves, which should exist. It’s just us fucking. Us feeling. Us being us

together. We leave everything else at the door.” He smiles a sexy, easy

smile and his hands slide up my back, his forehead resting against mine.

“Well. In our case, on the other side of the door. Don’t ever be

embarrassed with me.”

My fingers curl on his cheek, the soft rasp of his newly formed

whispers teasing my skin, the tension of moments before fading into the

seduction promise of his words. “I’m trying. This is…” My voice trails off,

and I am uncertain what I was going to say, uncertain what I really feel.

“I’ll help you.” He drags a finger down my cheek. “The only reason I

wanted to go next door was that I want this to be good for you. And I think

you need to be pampered tonight.”

“I can’t,” I whisper, and the two words, so telling, so honest, are out

before I can stop them.

He leans back and I am naked beyond my blouse, exposed beneath

his too-keen inspection. And I think he can see what I heard in my voice. My

desire to escape into his world and run from mine, if only for a little while.

My fear for him if I were to do so. My fear now that I have let him see too

much.

Steeling myself for whatever questions he will ask, I wait for him to

break the silence, hating that my passionate escape with this man will now

be washed in the lies the rest of my life is drowning in. But there is only

silence, and in that silence, understanding. He seems to know where he can

push me and where he cannot, and I do not understand how a man who

was a complete stranger yesterday knows me this well today.

Holding my stare, he reaches behind him and tugs his shirt over his

head, and the anticipation of seeing him naked, of being naked with him,

drums wildly through my body, but that moment doesn’t come.

Immediately, he puts his shirt over my head, the spicy scent of his cologne

teasing my nostrils, mingling with my confusion. “What are you doing?” I

ask, reluctantly shoving my arms through the sleeves.

“Making sure you know I’m here to stay. I’ll be here with you tonight.

I’ll be here with you in the morning. And you’ll still be wearing my shirt

because we both know you have no clothes in your suitcase.”

Chapter Six

I shove away from Liam and push to my feet. “I told you, my things

are being delivered.”

He’s already standing in front of me, towering over me, distractingly

bare-chested except for the perfect sprinkle of dark hair over his pecs. “I’m

not asking for answers,” he assures me.

“Explain it to me when you’re ready.”

It? Explain
it
? “When I’m ready?” Does he not understand I will never

be ready?

“When you’re ready,” he repeats, removing his cell phone from his

pocket. “I’m going to have the hotel deliver sheets and pillows.”

“No. I didn’t invite you to stay. You were only helping me in the

door.”

“Are you saying you don’t want me to stay?”

“You were supposed to help me in the door,” I repeat.

“As I remember it, I did.”

“Liam—”

“You want me to stay.”

“That’s arrogant.”

“It’s honest.”

Honest. I wish he would stop using that word. “You can’t stay.”

“Do you
want
me to stay?”

Now it’s a question. And yes. Yes. I want him to stay. I should say

“no”. The word won’t leave my mouth. “It’s not that simple.”

He reaches for my hand and pulls me close, and I tell myself to push

away but I don’t even try. “Let me make it simple, Amy. You want me to

stay. I want to stay. I’m staying.” He strokes my hair. “And you need help.

I’m going to help you, baby. You aren’t alone.”

A tornado of emotions rolls through me, and the debris of my past is

like glass cutting me inside out. Becoming his charity case is so far from

being Cinderella it’s like a horror show, not a fairy tale. I’ll take alone any

day. “No.” I hiss out the word, and this time it comes from my mouth. “I

don’t want your help.”

“You
need
my help.”

I’m emboldened in my mix of anger and mortification. “How did we

go from you fucking me properly to me being the needy girl you met on the

plane you want to help?”

“Correction. The gorgeous woman I met on a plane and still plan to

fuck properly many times over if I have my way. And there’s someone who

needs help in my path every day, and yes, I help where I can, but Amy, I’m

here, with you, because you are you.”

“Stop saying that,” I blurt. “You don’t even know who I am.”

“But I want to.”

And that’s the problem. I want him to and he can’t. “One night. We

were making this one night.”

“Were we, now?” He arches a brow and looks amused. “I don’t

remember that agreement, so I’d better start making my case for two.

Starting with making tonight good for you.”

Good for me? Does he not think a world-shattering orgasm was good

for me? Surprising me, he pulls out his cell phone and starts to dial. “Who

are you calling at this hour?” I ask, suddenly worried. Has a Wiki page given

me a façade of safety with Liam I shouldn’t trust? I don’t know this man and

he knows too much about me.

“This is Liam Stone,” he informs the person on the other end of the

line, amusement lingering in his eyes. “I checked into the presidential suite

about thirty minutes ago. Yes. Right.

Everything is fine, but I’m at a friend’s apartment across the street

and one of her moving boxes is missing. She needs queen-sized sheets,

pillows, a blanket, towels, and toiletries. I’ll pay double whatever your

listed price is to have them brought across the street to me, and whoever

delivers the items will be well rewarded.”

I press my hand to my face and turn away from him, walking to the

end of the hallway to stare at the apartment that is not mine, but is all I

have. What have I done by bringing Liam here?

He’s determined to help me now and I can’t tell him who I am, but he

has money to uncover whatever he wants to uncover. Lots of money. If my

handler doesn’t have my bases well covered, Liam will find out who I am. It

could get him and me both killed.

“Perfect,” I hear Liam say, and I can tell he’s moved closer. “And just

to be clear,” he continues, “I have the suite indefinitely, if you could make

sure that’s on record.”

Indefinitely.
The idea that I might be across the street from this man,

and I can simply ignore him, is pure insanity. You don’t have to be a rocket

scientist to know that you don’t just ignore Liam Stone if he doesn’t want to

be ignored.

I turn back around to find him closer than I thought, with only a few

steps separating us at the most, and I look away, knowing I’m not quite as

collected as I need to be. In the process, my gaze lands on his flat, naked

stomach. My mouth goes instantly dry and not just because of his lack of

clothing, which would be enough in itself, but it seems I’ve found Liam’s

hinted-at tattoo. The number 3.14 is etched in his skin over the Pi

mathematical symbol, which frames his belly button. Beneath the symbol

are rows of numbers I know represent infinite value, all aligned as an

inverted triangle, and trailing downward to alluringly disappear into his

pants.

“What options do we have for food at this hour?” Liam asks the hotel

operator, or whomever he is talking to, and the sound of his voice snaps my

gaze upward. His eyes meet mine, and now his amusement is laced with

male satisfaction. He leans on the edge of the wooden dining room table

and holds the phone away from his mouth. “Is pizza okay and if so, what

kind?”

Pizza, not Pi, Amy. Keep your gaze up and stop thinking about where

those infinite
numbers stop.
“Cheese. I like cheese.” I dart past him and

head to the kitchen, needing space, needing to think.

Once I’m behind the wall of the tiny, rectangular cracker box of a

room, I wish I could take a jog. Running has been my salvation over the

years, a way I found to block out the things that mess with my head.

Instead, I just try to do anything I can to stay busy. I open cabinets to see if I

have any supplies. The answer is no. No supplies, nothing to organize or

clean. No place but Liam to put my mind and he’s no longer an escape. He’s

just trouble.

Pressing my hands to the counter, I let my head fall between my

shoulders. I have nothing but the clothes I have on my back—or actually,

that now lay on the hallway floor—and there is a billionaire standing a few

feet away. The irony is hard to miss.

Liam’s voice lifts, growing closer again, and it is deep and confident,

from a man who owns his world when I do not own mine. I think maybe he

owns it more than I do right now, and that is a sign I need that run and

some time alone. I am weak tonight, but I will claw my way back to strength

again. I will. I have no choice.

I listen as he orders two large pizzas, one cheese and one pepperoni,

and remembers my diet Sprite from the plane, which I am far too pleased

about. The man is impossibly, frighteningly, involved in my world in all of

one day. My crappy college boyfriend I’d gambled on, thinking he was my

age, and far removed from my past and therefore safe, sure hadn’t known

much about me. I’d thought that was good, another thing that made him

safe, until I found my roommate’s legs around his neck.

“Food and supplies should be here in about fifteen minutes.”

I turn to find Liam standing under the archway of the kitchen entry,

his dark hair rumpled, his broad and gloriously bare chest reminding me

that I’m wearing his shirt. And while he is strikingly male, that is not what

steals my breath in this moment. It’s the mix of tenderness and heat I find

in his eyes.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I whisper.

“We both need to eat.”

“That’s not what I mean, though I appreciate the food. You didn’t

have to order the hotel to bring me things. That costs money, and—”

He advances on me and I swallow the rest of my sentence. I start to

back away but he is already in front of me, his hands on my waist. I suck in

a breath, and just that fast, I’m on the counter, skirt up, knees apart, and

the fingers of one of his hands tunnel into my hair. His mouth slants over

mine, his tongue licking into my mouth, and he doesn’t taste tender. Not

one little bit.

He tastes like the raw, honest passion he’s promised this night will

hold. And he tastes like me. It is a sultry, arousing thought. I sink deeper

into the kiss, and this time, I am the one tangling my fingers into his dark

hair.

He reaches for my hand, covering it with his, tearing his mouth from

mine. “I told you I do not do anything because I have to. And I don’t. But to

be inside you right now, baby, I have to. I need to. And, yes—right here in

the kitchen.” He pulls his shirt over my head and I don’t know where he

tosses it. I am already wrapping my arms around him, pressing my naked

breasts to his chest. He strokes a hand down my hair, brushing his lips over

mine. “This isn’t going to be proper, but I’ll make it up to you, I promise. If I

don’t find my way inside you now I won’t let you eat when the food

arrives.”

“The only thing you’ll have to make up to me is if someone comes to

the door before this happens.”

“They’ll wait if they have to,” he promises. “Put your hands on the